


I Can’t Escape This Now (Unless You Show Me How)

by wintercaps



Series: Born To Be Yours [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Gunplay, Hair Pulling, Impact Play, M/M, Praise Kink, Sub Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercaps/pseuds/wintercaps
Summary: Bucky loves him so goddamn much. Loves that Steve wants this, trusts him enough to want this, to beg for Bucky to press a gun to his head and pull the trigger and trust that he’s safe.





	I Can’t Escape This Now (Unless You Show Me How)

**Author's Note:**

> not to be like soft but i chose this title bc i like to think that, other than the kinky aspect of it, both steve and bucky use their various forms of play (knife, blood, gun, breath, etc.) as ways of dealing with their own individual trauma, and it’s something that they trust the other to help turn into a positive experience for the both of them!

Bucky is in love with an _idiot._ He repeats this to himself several times a day, with varying degrees of fond exasperation, but this — this takes the cake.

 _This_ being Steve, pressing Bucky’s very own handgun into his grip, whispering a breathy “ _please_.” He’s all soft and doe-eyed from his naked perch on Bucky’s lap, cheeks flushed as pretty as the swell of his bruise-bitten lips. Steve curls Bucky’s flesh fingers around the grip of the Glock, and instinct has Bucky readjusting his grip till it sits snugly in his hand.

A barely-there smile curls the edges of Steve’s mouth as he picks up the magazine from its place on the bed, where only minutes prior he’d interrupted Bucky’s nightly routine of taking apart and cleaning his weapons by crawling into his lap right out of the shower, hands wandering and insistent. Bucky knows for a fact that the magazine is empty, but his hips still jump at the sound of Steve sliding it home and dropping the rack.

A part of Bucky wants to say no, wants to put the Glock down and tell Steve to stop being so fucking reckless, and he knows that Steve would accept that. He never pushes Bucky beyond what he’s comfortable with. But he sees the way Steve looks at the gun like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, and it’s always been real hard for Bucky to deny Steve of what he wants.

Bucky lifts the Glock till the barrel rests against Steve’s temple, tapping it there hard enough for Steve to really feel it without it hurting.

Steve makes a wrecked sound, rocking into nothing, pleading, “Bucky, _please_.”

Heart in his throat, Bucky pulls the trigger. The sound has Steve choking on a sob, even as his knees buckle and he all but collapses onto Bucky’s lap, insisting, “again, please, oh Bucky, please,”

Bucky exhales heavily, letting his worries drift away on his breath. Steve wants this. He wants this, and Bucky wants this, and they’ve both spent more than enough time denying themselves of things that they want just because they weren’t _supposed_ to want them.

Really, it’s no more dangerous than the time Bucky had used his butterfly knife to cover Steve in cuts and blood and his name, carved into the skin of his chest. The letters had faded and healed throughout the night, so that Steve was only left with the barest hints of pink scarring the next morning. He’d brushed reverent fingers over the raised scars, looking at them in the mirror like they were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. Steve had dragged Bucky in close by the front of his shirt and fucked him hard enough that Bucky couldn’t even remember _why_ Steve was fucking him in the first place.

It wasn’t as though Steve _never_ fucked Bucky, but he’d made it clear that he had a preference, just as Bucky did. They only really switched it up when Steve felt like he had something to prove and, apparently, the best way to do so was with his dick.

Using the knife _had_ been dangerous. Bucky was in control of himself at all times, and the knife never strayed anywhere he hadn’t intended it to go. The terrifying part was Steve, squirming and sobbing and near impaling himself on the blade several times, though he didn’t seem to notice that he’d done so. They’d both enjoyed the fuck out of that scene, but it didn’t change the fact that Bucky had been terrified of Steve moving the wrong way and ending up dead in his arms.

All things considered, the gun is probably safer. Without bullets, it’s essentially nothing more than a dull prop for Bucky to wave around. No sharp edges to tear skin, just the weight of it in his hand and the implicit threat of what _could_ happen.

It’s more of a mind game than the knife had been, and when Bucky shifts into that mentality, he feels the final piece of the scene slotting into place. Bucky knows all about how to fuck with another person’s mind.

Steve is still staring up at him, sharp chin digging into Bucky’s chest, all wide-eyed and excited, hoping for more. He shouts when Bucky suddenly yanks his head back by his hair, dragging him away roughly. Before he can settle, Bucky rears back the hand holding the gun, bringing it across Steve’s jaw with a sharp _crack!_

Steve cries out, blood already spilling from the split skin of his cheek. Bucky yanks his head back into place by the metal hand still gripping his hair.

“Oh, fuck.” Steve wheezes, still looking at Bucky like he hung all the stars in the sky. “Fuck, Bucky, that’s — hurts, fuck, oh, please.”

Bucky releases the handful of hair he’d been clutching, moving his hand down to grip at Steve’s jaw. He keeps his gaze cold and assessing as he turns his head to the side, watching the wound already begin to knit itself closed.

“Bucky — “ Steve chokes on his own breath at Bucky’s next move, finding himself tossed carelessly on the floor.

Bucky moves smoothly towards the set of drawers in the corner of their room, opening the third drawer down. He hears Steve’s catch of breath. The third drawer is where he keeps his firearms.

He pulls out his Desert Eagle, turning enough that Steve can easily see the way he inspects it. He seriously considers using it for a moment, but, well, he has something of a sentimental attachment to his Glock. It was the first firearm he’d been allowed to keep on his person after coming out of the cold. There’s also the fact that the Glock’s barrel is perfect for what Bucky plans to use it for.

The click of Bucky’s ammo box unlocking has Steve jolting out of the corner of Bucky’s eye. He pays no mind to the movement, humming to himself as he pulls out another magazine. It’s empty, in need of a reload, but Steve doesn’t need to know that.

“Now,” Bucky slides the drawer shut. Steve’s eyes follow the movement before snapping back to Bucky. “This makes it a bit more fun, don’t you think?”

Steve’s jaw drops when Bucky unloads the magazine from his Glock, replacing it with the one he’d picked up. He flinches when Bucky aims it at his chest.

“There we go.” Bucky can hear the satisfaction in his own voice. “That’s what I like to see.”

“I — _Bucky._ ” Steve’s voice is strained, eyes wide. Bucky smiles at him. A deep thrill of pleasure sparks up his spine at the fear in Steve’s eyes.

Bucky teases his finger over the trigger carriage, musing, “Is this what you wanted? You wanted me to point a gun at you? Why’d you want this, huh? Why’s this get you all hot and bothered?”

Steve shakes his head, making a sound of protest, though he doesn’t say anything to deny Bucky’s claims. Steve flinches away as Bucky steps closer, gaze trained on the barrel of the Glock.

“Open your mouth.”

Steve looks panicked, “Bucky, wait — “

“I said, _open your mouth_.” Bucky’s left hand shoots out to grip the uninjured side of Steve’s jaw, digging his thumb into the corner of his mouth till his teeth part. Steve gags as Bucky forces this thumb deeper.

“You scared of gettin’ shot, Stevie? Is that it? Why’d you go and ask me for this, then?” He waves the barrel of the gun in front of Steve’s red-rimmed eyes.

Steve sobs and flinches when Bucky slips his thumb out of his mouth as he places the barrel on one of his temples, pulling the trigger. The sound that comes out when he realises what Bucky’s done is something akin to a wail, tears spilling down his cheeks with the floodgates broken.

Bucky keeps his voice quiet when he asks, “Color?”

Steve takes a minute to cry, shoulders heaving with the force of his sobs. Bucky strokes a soft hand through his hair while he calms down.

“Green.” Steve finally croaks out, looking wrecked. “Green, please, green, _so green_.”

Bucky smiles, replying with a gentle, “That’s a good boy.” that has Steve melting against the hand in his hair. Bucky can always tell when Steve sinks into subspace; he goes all soft and sweet and pliant, looking at Bucky like he’s the only thing that matters.

“Open your mouth for me, doll?”

Steve’s lips part as he instinctively shifts into the proper position he takes when he’s on the floor at Bucky’s feet. He folds his legs under himself, keeping his back straight and shoulders set, hands folded politely on his knees. Steve won’t move them unless Bucky tells him that he can, or unless he needs to signal that he’s ready to stop.

Bucky makes a sound of approval that has Steve making a soft noise in return. He tilts his chin up, parting his lips further, asking without words. Bucky rewards him by trailing the barrel of the gun over his lips.

Steve’s eyes, so blown out that Bucky can barely make out a sliver of blue around the darkness of his pupils, flutter at the sensation. Bucky sighs, “You’re so pretty, baby. So beautiful.”

He slides the gun past his lips on the moan the Steve gives. Steve shivers, a full-bodied tremble. Bucky can easily see Steve’s cock from where he’s standing, and he repeats a soft, “Beautiful.” because if anyone is able to have an aesthetically pleasing dick, it’s Steve. It curves so pretty against his hip, flushed the sweetest shade of pink, head nearing a desperate purple. A bead of pre-cum drips from the tip under Bucky’s gaze.

Bucky smiles, “You’re so good for me.” He slips the gun deeper, disappearing behind his teeth. Steve breathes deeply through his nose, hooded eyes still locked on Bucky’s own. Bucky keeps pressing it further in.

Steve gags on the fullness in his mouth, eyes watering. Bucky makes a soothing sound, contrasted with a rough jerk of his wrist that has Steve choking as the gun reaches the back of his throat.

Bucky grabs a sudden fistful of hair, holding Steve in place, soothing, “Just relax, sweetheart.” as he draws the Glock out till it rests, spit-soaked, against his lower lip. Steve shakes, gasping for air.

Steve makes a high, broken sound as Bucky forces it back in. His throat convulses around the width of the barrel.

“There we go, oh, what a sweet boy.” Bucky coos, laughing at the jolt of Steve’s hips. “Just sit there and take it, hm?”

Steve keeps his head in place as Bucky releases the grip on his hair, hand sliding down to affectionately cup his jaw instead.

He smiles as he pulls the trigger. Steve sobs, arching into it, a near painful curve to his back. He keeps his hands pressed into his own thighs.

By the time Bucky decides that Steve has had enough, he looks ruined. His face is flushed red and splotchy, cheeks stained with drying tears, struggling to breathe as Bucky eases the gun from his mouth for the last time. Bucky delights in the puddle between Steve’s thighs, a mix of his own drool and pre-cum dripping from his cock.

Steve physically recoils at the next click of the trigger, barrel pressed against the dip of his throat.

“ _Bucky_.” Steve’s voice is _destroyed_ , fuck, Bucky loves him so goddamn much. Loves that Steve wants this, trusts him enough to want this, to beg for Bucky to press a gun to his head and pull the trigger and trust that he’s safe.

Bucky backhands him with the Glock again, higher up, sending Steve crashing to the floor. He scrambles back to position a second later. Blood trails from the cut on his cheekbone. Bucky slams the butt of the gun against his temple, and Steve falls forward to his hands and knees, arms trembling.

A wounded sound escapes Steve when Bucky presses the barrel against his forehead, cooing, “Look so pretty down on your hands and knees for me.” as he pulls the trigger again.

Three down, five shots to go.

Steve gives a dazed shake of his head, whispering, “sir, please, I need — “ and Bucky cuts him off with the click of the trigger, smoothly replying,

“I know exactly what you need. You’re mine, sweet boy, of course I know what you need. Don’t even have to ask for it.”

He drops his hand, the next shot aimed at the base of Steve’s cock. He drops to his own knees smoothly as he does so, wrapping Steve in his arms as he presses the gun against his trembling stomach, firing off another shot.

Steve all but wails Bucky’s name when Bucky finally gets a hand around his cock. He cries out a high, “Bucky BuckyBucky _Bucky_!” when Bucky moves the gun to press against the back of his head. He pulls the trigger as Steve rocks into his tight grip, his sweet boy giving a broken moan. Bucky barely moves his hand on Steve’s cock, letting Steve control the rocking of his own hips.

“That’s it, baby.” He whispers, squeezing the trigger again and again, knowing now that the magazine is truly empty, without a doubt. “God, sound so fuckin’ pretty, could listen to you cry for the rest of my goddamn life.”

Steve’s entire body jerks and tenses in Bucky’s arms, a truly devastated cry wrenching itself from Steve’s hoarse throat as he comes. Bucky pets him through it, letting the Glock clatter to their floorboards.

“Sir, oh, please.” Steve gasps against his shoulder. “Please? You said — you said I was good, n’ you said I wouldn’t have to ask, you — “

“Okay, baby, okay. Deep breaths for me, alright?” Bucky pulls Steve in closer, shifting their positions on the hard floor till he’s all but cradling Steve in his arms.

Steve gives a rough shake of his head, insisting, “You _said_ I wouldn’t have to ask, _please_ , you said I was yours, wanna be yours.”

Bucky brushes sweat-damp hair off Steve’s forehead, pressing a sweet kiss against the exposed skin there. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll take real good care of you, huh? Like I always do. You want me to come, is that it?” Steve nods so vehemently that he almost smacks his head into Bucky’s nose. “Alright, angel. Okay. Whatever you want.”

Steve stays pliant and soft-limbed as Bucky lifts him onto the bed, still gazing at him with that adoring look. Bucky kisses him for just a moment, a brief touch of lips, before sliding onto the mattress beside him. Steve immediately curls into towards Bucky, face pressed into Bucky’s chest as he tangles their legs together.

Steve mumbles a sleepy, “Bucky.” as he nuzzles into Bucky’s chest. Bucky gives a low sound in reply, already grinding against the softness of Steve. He’s usually all muscles and soldier-tough, but when he sinks like this, he _melts_ , and Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so sweet in his entire life.

Movements kept slow, Bucky showers his sweet boy in praise. He grinds into the angular cut of Steve’s hip, where he’d sliced the skin in that particular spot a week earlier, trailing gentle bites over Steve’s sunkissed shoulders, thanking each and every god who may or may not exist for the freckles on the skin there.

Bucky loses half of what he says into the space between them, whispering _good boy_ , _love you so much,_   _so well behaved for me_. Steve’s cheeks pink up under the attention and the feeling of Bucky steadily reaching the edge from rocking against him.

Bucky shakes and sighs when he comes in his own sweatpants, wishing that he’d had the foresight to take them off. He’d ruined more than his fair share of pants this way.

“Little brat.” He grumbles when he sees Steve smiling at him, all sleepy and soft. That smile widens into a grin that he presses into Bucky’s shoulder, making a loud _mwah!_ sound as he smacks a kiss to the fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you.” Steve mumbles, wiggling in closer. “Love you so much, y’always take such good care of me.”

Bucky buries his face in Steve’s hair. “Course I do. You’re mine, gotta take care of my baby boy.”

Steve makes a soft sound at that, squirming in his arms happily, and Bucky files that reaction away for later. For now, he settles on running his hands over Steve’s arms.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? You doin’ alright after that?”

“Yeah. Buck, _yeah_ , it was great. Like, exactly what I was wanted. That thing where you made me think you were actually gonna shoot me? That was _so_ scary, I think I almost came right then and there.”

Bucky laughs, loud and unabashed, delighted that Steve had truly enjoyed himself.

“You need anything? Water, something to eat, a blanket? Some cuddles?”

Steve hums thoughtfully. “My throat’s kinda sore, some water would be nice. And _a lot_ of cuddles. Like, a full night’s worth of them.”

“Spoilt.” Bucky teases as he slips out of their bed and wanders down the hall.

“Only ‘cause you treat me so good!” Steve calls to him.

“A real mistake on my part.” Bucky agrees, fetching a few bottles of chilled water from their fridge. Steve laughs. Bucky finds him starfished on their bed, and pulls out their first aid kit from under their bed. He’d left it there after their scene with the knife the week prior, and judging by Steve’s reaction to both that scene and the one they’d just done, it would be smart to keep the kit within close reach.

Steve takes one of the bottles with a dazzling smile that makes Bucky feel dizzy in love all over again as he grabs their alcohol wipes to clean the blood on Steve’s face, where the Glock had split the skin.

Steve pouts and complains and gives Bucky his big sad eyes when Bucky announces that they _both_ need a shower. He insists, “I literally _just_ got out of the shower before we started playing, how’s that fair?” and Bucky replies, “ _You_ were the one who decided to _jump me_ right after your shower.” and Steve huffs even as he follows Bucky into their en suite.

Bucky’s in love with an idiot, but he’s into most of Steve’s stupid ideas, so he must be pretty idiotic as well. They go well together; a matching pair, a constant push and pull and give and take. Bucky’s known it since before he even understood what it meant to love someone with his entire soul, and he knows it just as well now — they belong together, without a doubt. If more than seventy years of trauma wasn’t enough to drive them apart, Bucky seriously doubts that any of Steve’s reckless ideas will be able to do the job.

**Author's Note:**

> forreals kids stay safe and remember, safe sane and consensual (even tho gunplay falls more under RACK but still — )


End file.
